


it just feels good (when you're next to me)

by loveleee



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, episode 2x07, some good old fashioned canoodling, that the writers denied us for some reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 01:22:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12877179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveleee/pseuds/loveleee
Summary: Jughead’s hands slide up under Betty’s sweater, hot against her already-warm skin. She smiles against his mouth, breaking the kiss. “I don’t know who missed me more, you or Hotdog,” she teases.“Me,” he says simply, dropping another kiss onto her mouth before he pulls away. His fingers drag over her hip as he moves. This week, these past seven days, it’s like he can’t stop touching her.(Spoilers for 2x07, kind of, because this is how they end up at the beginning of that episode.)





	it just feels good (when you're next to me)

**Author's Note:**

> Set the evening before the opening scenes of episode 2x07; I'm imagining that about a week passes between the prior episode and this, and that nobody knows about the Sugarman's murder / the "no sinning for 48 hours" demand until reading the news that morning.

Betty texts Kevin first. He replies about an hour later with an eyeroll emoji, which she knows means _yes_.

Jughead texts back right away. He says, _see you soon._

 

 

 

 

Jughead answers the door to the trailer half-bent over, one finger hooked into Hotdog’s collar to stop the furry little beast from escaping.

“Hi Hotdog,” Betty coos, stepping inside and crouching down to pet him as Jughead shuts the door. Of all the things Jughead has acquired in the days since he officially became a Serpent – a jacket; a tattoo; an ever-present furrow to his brow – Hotdog is unquestionably her favorite.

She gives the dog one last scratch under the chin and when she stands Jughead moves close, his fingers trailing over the back of her hand, a slight smile on his face. His hair is messy, and his beanie is nowhere in sight.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” she echoes, and then he’s kissing her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A week ago, she had shown up at his door, and he’d cracked it open, blocking Hotdog’s exit with his body.

She hadn’t texted, but he hadn’t looked surprised to see her.

She had told him about the Black Hood, about the phone calls, the threats, the empty house at the end of the road. She’d cried, and he’d held her hands and listened, slipped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to the side of her head.

When she was done, he’d unbuttoned his shirt and tugged his right arm out of its sleeve. She’d run her fingers over the ink and he’d winced – it was still fresh, still sensitive – and she pretended not to notice the tear dripping down his own cheek.

 _I didn’t mean it_ , she had said. _I didn’t mean any of it._

 _I know,_ he’d answered. _Neither did I._

Now, when he kisses her, there’s something unfamiliar in it: a longing, a desperation that wasn’t there before. Like he’s begging forgiveness for something he didn’t even do.

Jughead’s hands slide up under Betty’s sweater, hot against her already-warm skin. She smiles against his mouth, breaking the kiss. “I don’t know who missed me more, you or Hotdog,” she teases.

“Me,” he says simply, dropping another kiss onto her mouth before he pulls away. His fingers drag over her hip as he moves. This week, these past seven days, it’s like he can’t stop touching her.

“You want popcorn?”

“Sure,” she says, following him into the kitchen.

“Last one,” he murmurs, almost to himself, as he pulls the plastic-wrapped package from the cabinet over the sink. “You got any new leads?”

Betty sighs, sinking into one of the kitchen chairs. “Not really.”

Jughead tosses the popcorn bag into the microwave, punches a few buttons, and joins her at the table. He rests his palm over her hand where it rests on the tabletop, and she turns her hand over, twining her fingers through his.

“You think it’s safe to be here?” This question comes quieter than the others.

The truth is that Betty doesn’t know. The Black Hood had stopped calling ever since she’d flipped the script. She’d linked arms with Veronica in the halls of Riverdale High, held Jughead’s hand in a booth at Pop’s, walked home from school beside Archie – nothing. No calls, no letters, and most importantly, no murders.

“I think so,” she says. “It doesn’t matter. I told him I’m done.” She swallows. “He can do what he wants, he’s not keeping me away from you anymore.”

Jughead’s fingers tighten around hers. He looks like he wants to say something, but the microwave beeps frantically before he can, and he stands up, turning away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They watch two-and-a-half episodes of The Great British Bake Off on Archie’s dad’s Netflix account. (It’s Betty’s choice; Jughead groans when she makes it, claiming “there’s no _conflict_ , Betty,” but she hears his tiny gasp when the wall of a gingerbread house comes crashing down mere seconds before time runs out on the showstopper challenge, and bites her lip to stop from smiling too hard.)

His arm is around her, a threadbare blanket over their legs, and eventually she ends up with her head in his lap, his fingers scratching lazily at her scalp. Betty feels so warm and relaxed and _good_ that she can’t help but close her eyes, and when she opens them again the laptop is closed shut on the coffee table, and Jughead is looking down at her like she’s too fragile to even cradle in his lap.

“Let’s go to bed,” he says quietly, and she nods.

He follows close behind her, his hands light on her waist, guiding her slightly to the left and the right as they move through the trailer as though she needs directions to his room. His toes bump against her heels when she stops in his doorway, and Betty giggles, leaning back against him. She feels suddenly, undeniably, wonderfully awake.

Jughead flicks up the light switch by the door and a dim yellow glow emits from the lamp beside the bed. He presses his lips to the back of Betty’s neck, and a shiver rolls through her. One of his hands is flat against her stomach, the thumb edging beneath the hem of her sweater.

Betty turns around and links her arms around his neck, drawing him in for a kiss. He edges her back into the room, slowly, haltingly, and when the back of her legs hits the foot of the bed she drops, pulling him after her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He kisses her and she kisses him, tangles her fingers in his wild, dark hair and arches against him when his lips find her neck. Betty pulls his shirt off and her eyes are drawn to his shoulder like there’s magnets in her gaze. She closes them when she presses her mouth against the tattoo and she can feel the hitch in his breath when she does it, can feel the way his torso tenses up, turned on.

“I love you,” Jughead says when she straddles him, nearly all of their clothes gone, just underwear between them. His hands are roaming her skin – her breasts, her hips, her thighs – like he’s not sure where to touch her, where he _wants_ to touch her. She’s never felt him hard between her legs like this before, never had him pinned beneath her, his body responding so acutely to everything she does.

She’s so happy and so, so scared.

Betty doesn’t answer, just leans forward and kisses him hard, her tongue in his mouth, pressing her hips into his.

They kiss for what feels like ages, rocking against one another in some kind of rhythm they both instinctively know, until Jughead tilts his head slightly, breaking the kiss, meeting her eyes. “I have condoms,” he says. His fingers squeeze her hips, a question in his touch. She’s so wet that she knows he must be able to feel it.

She kisses him again, gentler this time. “I think…I just like this, right now,” she says, leaning into him so her breasts press against his bare chest.

“Okay,” he agrees readily, and his eyes are so soft that she thinks she’d fall in love with him all over again if she hadn’t already tumbled to the bottom of that well months ago.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He makes her come for the first time with his mouth on her breast and his hand between her thighs. She wraps her hand around him and helps him over the edge; it’s messy and strange and exciting, and she’s so glad she’s with _him_ , this boy who she’s known for years but only really seen for a sliver of that time.

Betty falls asleep with Jughead’s arm pinned beneath her shoulders, and for the first time in weeks, she doesn’t dream of anything at all.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I deeply, truly appreciate comments and kudos - please let me know what you think! <3
> 
> What else to say...hmm...I totally have this headcanon that Fred Andrews watched every single episode of GBBO that he could get his hands on while he was recovering from his gunshot wound. And that Archie gave Jughead his login like 3 years ago, so Jughead ends up watching a lot of the same stuff that Fred does, so he doesn't catch on that someone's using his account for free.
> 
> And oh, look at that, I named another fic after Rilo Kiley lyrics.


End file.
